Who can decide
on what is lost?
When we sanctify it
in the memory
it is a part of us.
As the stars that do not die
but instead hang in the sky,
as more than remembrance
and a light in the dark -
but as a clear and
shining testament
to love.
Who can decide then
on what is gone, or know
what is etched on the heart
or the mind
in vivid inks,
on parchments
safe from decay?
Who can say?
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
March 2021
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